


Don't Mention It

by longleggedgit



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:16:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as Atobe is concerned, the events of the day can be summed up in two points:</p><p>1. Shishido insisted the entire Hyoutei regulars team go to the lake.</p><p>2. The lake was full of leeches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Mention It

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2009 and just found it again.

As far as Atobe is concerned, the events of the day can be summed up in two points:

1\. Shishido insisted the entire Hyoutei regulars team go to the lake.

2\. The lake was full of _leeches._

Which is how Atobe ended up being carried fireman-style in Kabaji’s arms the entire three and a quarter miles to his mansion from the lake, where they left the rest of the regulars to die of blood loss just as they rightfully deserved for ever presuming it would be a good idea to swim in an unchlorinated body of water.

“Kabaji,” Atobe sniffs, tightening his arms around Kabaji’s neck. The mansion is coming into sight at last, and Atobe can barely contain himself for need of a bath. “I think there may be one still on my left foot.”

Kabaji doesn’t reply, just stops in his tracks and lowers Atobe gently to the ground. He pulls back the cuff of Atobe’s slacks to examine the area carefully, and it strikes Atobe with a strange sudden twinge just how delicate those hands can be.

“Never mind,” Atobe mutters when Kabaji’s search proves fruitless. “Must have been an insect.”

He stays quiet when Kabaji scoops him up again, knowing he need not bother to direct Kabaji in the side door and up the servants’ staircase to his suite. Kabaji knows all the shortcuts.

“Thank you,” Atobe says, stiffly, as Kabaji deposits him on his bed. In lieu of an answer, Kabaji disappears for a moment into the adjoining bathroom, returning a few seconds later with a bowl of warm water and a washcloth. 

“You don’t—have to—“ Atobe stammers, but Kabaji is already bending down to wash the grime off his feet. 

“I don’t know why you do all this for me,” Atobe says, quite surprising himself. 

It surprises Kabaji, too, if the way he stiffens is any indicator. He finishes his task with a touch of hesitation and then sits back on his feet, frowning at the floor as if he has no idea what to do next.

“What I meant is,” Atobe grates out, steeling himself against what he’s about to say. “Thank you.”

The slope of Kabaji’s shoulders relaxes. He looks up at Atobe with a softer expression, almost a smile, and whatever was tangling itself into a knot in Atobe’s stomach sorts itself out again. 

“Now draw me a bath,” Atobe says, pointing to distract from the growing flush in his cheeks.

Much to his relief, Kabaji obeys without a word.


End file.
